


it waits for our senses to sharpen

by Nakimochiku



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:30:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7837699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakimochiku/pseuds/Nakimochiku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Which house would you prefer?" the sorting hat asks directly. </p><p>Hamilton glances around the great hall, and his eyes land on Aaron. "Slytherin."</p><p>or, Aaron Burr and the kid who won't shut up</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Year

**Author's Note:**

> Okay listen this was literally supposed to be barely five hundred words to be posted on tumblr and then? it grew, and grew some more, and now? I'm just gonna give in and write the bloody hogwarts au, I'm so mad at myself. prepare yourself for like, seven chapters of magical fluff i guess. find me on tumblr: pomplanaki

i.

It’s taking the sorting hat a freaky amount of time to decide where to place the gawky looking kid, Aaron thinks, wishing the sorting ceremony could finish already so dinner can start. He drank his weight in butter beer on the train, but it left him even more empty, and his stomach growls now like a monster demanding sacrifices. The rest of the great hall shifts restlessly, but the hat will not be rushed. He pats his stomach over his robes, and wishes again the ceremony would hurry, cursing the gawky kid on the stool.

“Hmmm.” The hat murmurs mostly to itself, swaying back and forth on the kid’s head. Hamilton, Aaron thinks his name is, gaze flicking over him, then the floating candles, the teacher’s table and back. “Gryffindor would be good. Strong heart you’ve got. There’s a hunger here, that’s for sure, to prove yourself, and Slytherin would be good for that. Ravenclaw maybe? Hufflepuff?” Stumped, at last the hat addresses Hamilton directly. “Which would you prefer? You’d do well in any house you picked.” 

Hamilton beams with pride, and casts his gaze from right to left, face shadowed beneath the sorting hat’s wide brim. At last his eyes scan the Slytherin table, and land on Aaron. It feels like a bolt of lightening when their eyes meet, and Aaron can’t say why. “Slytherin.” he answers clearly, and doesn’t take his eyes off Aaron.

“Slytherin!” the hat calls back, and the table erupts in cheers, as does the rest of the hall now that the grueling wait is over. Aaron can only clap politely.

ii.

Hamilton squeezes himself in between Lafayette and Aaron and grabs at a piece of toast with one hand while pouring tea with the other, talking the whole while, as though he didn’t just come into the conversation, and he isn’t speaking through a wave of crumbs. Aaron ignores him, makes a face at his oatmeal and gulps it down despite the horrid taste like a champion.

“I said,” Hamilton starts again after he swallows, voice coloured in exasperation, “We’re going to support the Gryffindor match today right? Because I got us these and I’d hate for them to go to waste.” He reaches into his satchel, which always seems to have more in it than it can actually carry, and pulls out three Gryffindor scarves, stitched with moving lions he appears to have charmed himself, given their jerky clawing motions.

“Of course.” Lafayette scans the table for a muffin, and grabs at one from a basket that appears to be sneaking away from him. “John is in as beater this match, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. And Burr’s sister is keeper too,” Hamilton turns bright eyes on him, and Aaron fumbles his toast. “Right?”

“Yeah.” Aaron answers, taking one of the scarves and draping it over his shoulder, the scratchy wool a pleasant distraction from the strange knot in his stomach.

“Anyway, Herc’s being a square and is cheering for Hufflepuff so--”

Aaron tunes the rest of the conversation out.

iii.

“Burr.” Aaron jerks awake, sucking in a startled gasp. Hamilton’s eyes seem to reflect the light, his palm is hot on Aaron’s shoulder even through his sleep shirt. Lafayette snores lightly in the bed across from his, sleep mask pulled firmly over his eyes. The darkness seems less threatening as he wakes further, less shadows to reach out from beneath his bed and grasp at his ankles. “You were having the dream again.” Hamilton explains, shifting back to look at him fully. Aaron sucks in another breath and falls back to his pillow, skin clammy. “If you want, I can sneak down to the kitchens for some milk or something--”

“You’re not allowed out past curfew.” Aaron reminds gently, like he does every time this happens. “I’ll be alright.”

Hamilton shrugs and crawls back into his own bed, pulling the covers over his head with a gentle “lumos,” to write without light disturbing his roommates. Aaron closes his eyes to the sounds of a quill scratching parchment, familiar now, giving life to the watery half dark Hamilton’s covered charm makes. Aaron rarely sees Hamilton sleep.

When he does, he has nightmares of his own.

iv.

Theodosia fiddles with her blue and bronze tie, eye lashes lowered coyly. She’s a fourth year, Aaron knows, smiling at her. She has a boyfriend. But that doesn’t stop him from sending notes by owl, and certainly doesn’t stop her from asking him to study dates in the library. She’s beautiful, she’s intelligent, and for some wild reason she wants him. He can’t fathom why but he certainly isn’t going to question it. Aaron opens his mouth to compliment her long cornrows, when a weight settles over his back. He flinches hard from the touch, jerking away from the arms around his shoulders.

“Burr!” Hamilton whispers directly into his ear. He’s too close, too warm, and Aaron jerks again to try and get away. He hates when Hamilton gets clingy. “What are you doing all the way out here? Today’s group study day, Angelica got us a private room and everything, remember?”

“I’m okay studying here.” Aaron replies, flicking his eyes meaningfully in Theodosia’s direction. Hamilton glances at her, nods stiffly in greeting and turns back to him. “Thanks for inviting me though.”

“You can’t just back out, you promised! Besides, Jefferson will definitely drive me crazy if I have to go alone, I will punch him, and you’re eighty five percent of my self control.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I have company right now. I can’t just drop everything.” Aaron warns. Theodosia watches the exchange with an expression that becomes increasingly illegible, and he beats down his temper.

“How about I just come with you?” Theodosia offers, gathering her notes. They haven’t written anything, they’d been busy flirting, and for a second Aaron resents Hamilton’s intrusion so much he could hex him. “You said it’s a group study right? I know Jefferson."

For a second, Hamilton’s eyes are cool, discerning and distinctly unfriendly as he glances at her. Then he smiles, and Aaron feels sure he imagined it. “Sure, you can come too.” his voice is slightly odd when he says, “the more the merrier.”

v.

“Ow.” Aaron jerks away from the prod of Hamilton’s fingers, placing his palm over the bruised and swollen apple of his cheek.

“Sorry.” Hamilton whispers, fumbling on Madame Pomfrey’s tray for a potion and squinting at the label. “Take a swig of this, it’ll help with the swelling.” 

Aaron glares, grabs the bottle from Hamilton and squints at the label himself. It’s pumpkin flavoured, and Aaron takes a reluctant sip, nose wrinkling at the distinctly not-pumpkin taste, and sets the bottle back on the tray. His cheek seems to cool, the pain dulling.

“Are you mad at me?”

Aaron’s glare sharpens. “It seems to me you’re always giving me reason to be mad at you.”

“I couldn’t just let that guy talk shit, okay. You know that.” He crosses his arms belligerently and doesn’t look the least bit sorry. He never looks sorry, no matter what foolish venture he drags them into. he pauses though and considers the blooming bruise around Aaron’s eye, fading already from purple and black to blue and green before his eyes. “You didn’t have to step in--”

“I never have to step in. But every time, I am pulling you from some braggart or out of some secret portal or away from some dangerous creature, and every time, I seem to suffer the consequences.” Aaron hisses. “Like that time--”

“Yeah.” Hamilton agrees softly before Aaron can work up a rant that’s been building all school year, reaching out to touch the curve of Aaron’s uninjured cheek. He stiffens and watches his hand warily, and Hamilton draws nearer, feet on either side of his knee. “You’re always stepping in, always looking out for me,” His eyes are half lidded, made all the more intense for that fact, and his gentle fingers seem to hold him in place without any force. “Thank you.”

The soft kiss on Aaron’s cheek feels like a bolt of lightening, and Aaron can’t say why.


	2. Second Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: Face claim for Bellamy is Godfrey Gao. other note, face claim for Theo is literally always changing.

i.

The train rattles as it pulls through the countryside. Alex finds Burr with a lapful of chocolate frogs and a novel. He glances at him with slow consideration, but does not offer him a seat. Alex beams and takes one just the same, stealing a chocolate frog and tossing the collectors card back in his general direction. Burr tucks it between the pages of his book.

“Burr! Long time no see!” Alex exclaims. “How was your summer? You get any of my owls?”

“Sometimes.” He replies easily. “I replied to the ones I got.”

“All you ever said was I'm well, how are you.” He levels a pout at him, and as usual it's ignored. They fall back into patterns so easily. “That hardly counts as replying.”

Burr shrugs and peels open a chocolate frog. He likes to eat the legs first, because he’s strange and cruel, and if he doesn't the frog will definitely get away from him. Alex steals another frog and shoves it in his mouth whole.

They sit in quiet, watching the monotonous scenery or each other. Alex wonders at him, and Burr hates to be wondered at, so he keeps his nose firmly in his novel. Then John and the others burst in, crowding into the car, stealing chocolate frogs out of Burr’s lap and all chattering at once. Burr smiles at them placidly, offers chocolate to Peggy, who is a first year and unused to the noise.

Alex puts all those quickly scrawled “I'm good, Sally is well, how are you?”s out of his mind, and laughs along with the others.

ii.

Bellamy is a fourth year Ravenclaw. He’s tall, black haired and brown eyed with the kind of mouth that curls with secrets. Burr always goes for the pretty ones. He brings candies back from his trips to Hogsmeade and sends them to Burr by owl with affectionate notes every morning. Alex doesn't question when and how Burr made friends with him, because Burr makes friends everywhere he goes. All he needs to do is flash a sweet, unassuming smile, and people are hooked, tricked into thinking he’s pure as an angel.

“You're glaring.” Herc reminds, sleepily trying to charm his yellow and black tie into tying itself.

“Am not.” Alex snaps his gaze away from Bellamy and Burr where they chat at the Ravenclaw table. Theodosia sits across from them, pouring them all tea. They make a lovely picture.

“I could punch him for you,” John offers, voice deceptively sweet as he cracks his knuckles. He smirks at Alex in that all too knowing way that drives him crazy, flashing teeth and a constellation of freckles. “Course, I’m not too sure which one you want me to punch.”

“Are you talking about Alex finally challenging Bellamy to a duel?” Laf joins the conversation, dumping his bag on the bench and hunting as always for his elusive basket of muffins.

“Nah, just me socking him once on Alex’s behalf.” John tips his chin up and gestures for Herc to charm his red and gold tie too.

“If I wanted to punch Bellamy--,” Alex starts, glancing back over to the Ravenclaw table, where Bellamy’s hand hovers over Burr’s shoulder but doesn't quite touch, and Theodosia plays with the ends of her braids tellingly. He looks away again.

“Which you do.” The other three chime in.

“If I did, I'd do it myself.” Alex concludes. He looks back at Burr, who laughs at something Theo says. Their eyes meet across the hall, as though Burr felt him looking. As always, it's electric.

iii.

Angelica sends him a howler. Peggy sends him one too, but he finds that one less concerning. Not because Peggy is any less scary or rightfully furious, but because it wasn't really Peggy's feelings he hurt, though he did badly wound her trust. Alex fingers the little red envelope. His friends glance at him with trepidation. John fingers a howler of his own with a sardonic smile.

“Best get it over with.” Burr says smoothly, pouring himself a bowl of oatmeal.

“You can talk, you're not about to receive a new asshole.” Alex bites with no heat.

“When you have to swallow a frog, try not to look at it too long.” Burr quotes. He makes a face at his porridge the way he always does, and downs it like a shot, undoubtedly taking his own advice. On any other morning, Alex might ask why he eats it if he hates it so much, the way he always means to before something else distracts him, but the howler takes priority.

Alex peels open one corner of the howler. It burst and lifts up, roaring in Angelica’s voice, “you ungrateful backstabbing serpentine inconsiderate no good lowdown--” and a list of other adjectives. The whole Great hall is looking at their table, because John’s is open now too, screaming, “--big mouth twerpy little--”

Both letters finish with a resounding, “don't ever talk to me again you jerk!” Then tears itself up. Alex feels like he’s just come through a hurricane.

“Do I even wanna ask?” Herc says wandering over and examining the remains of the howler.

“We probably shouldn't--” Alex begins.

“At this point what's three more people?” John shrugs. “They probably lowkey know anyway.” He turns to their friends, Burr pointedly ignores them and stirs milk into his tea. “Peggy told Alex who told me that Angelica has a crush on Jefferson, and I, admittedly like an idiot, blurted it out to Jefferson.”

Herc whistles. “No wonder.”

“Speaking of Peggy.” Alexander opens the second howler.

“I can't believe you would share something I told you in confidence, you--” she insults exactly like her sister.

Later, Alex sees Burr walking with Angelica in the halls, carrying her books while she eyes him dubiously. She shoots Alex a glare when she spots him and turns on her heel, leaving Burr to glance over his shoulder, make a shooing motion, and hurry after her.  

Even more later, after Angelica forgives him curtly via note but still says she doesn't want to talk to him for a while, Alex sits on Burr’s bed and asks, “what did you do?”

“I cast a spell called apology. Its really easy, you don't even need your wand.” Burr answers blandly. “It's what you should have done from the start.”

“Apologies--” Alex starts, but he doesn't say he finds them difficult. He just sits there helplessly.

Burr stares at him, eyes cool as water. “Good night Hamilton.” He says, and curls up to sleep.

iv.

He empties his bag of three sheaves of parchment, eighteen quills, a pair of socks and one of Burr’s novels before he gives up. “Burr. I forgot my potions book upstairs.”

“Of course you did.” Burr sighs, sliding his book over on the beaten wood table to share. He surveys the mess Alex has made on his side of the desk with world weary exasperation. “You carry everything but what you actually need.”

“I need all this stuff!” Alex protests, shoveling it back into his satchel to make room for the potion ingredients. Burr makes the same half disgusted face he always makes at some of the ingredients, and promptly shoves them to Alex for him to deal with. After that they work in tandem, handing off the knife or the ladle before the other can ask for it, dumping their ingredients in and stirring.

“I'm going to have gray hairs before this potion is done.” Alex sighs, tucking his chin into his folded arms, taking comfort in the heat of the flare on his face in contrast to the cool and dank dungeon classroom.

“Patience is a virtue.” Aaron reaches over and plucks a few leaves out of his hair, fingers gentle. Alex goes still and watches him, waits for him to notice the nature of that touch, suddenly awake and tingling, but Aaron doesn't seem to, he just flicks the garbage away.

“Sometimes I wonder if you weren't supposed to be a Hufflepuff.” 

v.

“It’s Christmas!” Alex announces as soon as the sun’s rays peer over the snow blanketed forest in the first hint of tremulous dawn. It's not really christmas, but it's the first day of Christmas break, and he wants to give Laf his gift before he leaves for home. “Up and at em! Rise and shine! Wakey wakey! Shake your tail feathers! I am seriously running out of muggle sayings, wake up you lazy bags of--”

“Alexander, my sweet,” Lafayette rasps without stirring. “If you do not shut up this instant, I am going to shove this pillow down your throat.”

“Seconded.” Burr murmurs, curling up beneath his quilt.

“Everyone's waiting for us downstairs--”

“I will eat my wand if anyone but Angelica is awake right now.”

“You’re awake.”

“And I’d be asleep if you just stopped shouting in my ear.”

“I--”

“Silencio.” Laf waves his wands at them both. Alex would make an indignant noise, but with his voice taken from him he settles for leaping onto Laf’s bed and jumping.  

They crowd into the great hall after breakfast. The Schuyler sisters blow everyone kisses and hand out cards. Laf grabs a portkey that will take him to Beauxbatons to catch up with his girlfriend. John punches Alex and reminds him not to give Aaron a hard time.

Burr wanders off to wave Theodosia and Bellamy goodbye. Bellamy insists, “Are you sure you don't wanna come, one more couldn’t hurt.” Burr shakes his head, and Alex watches from afar as Bellamy’s shoulders slump in disappointment. They exchange little gifts, and then they’re gone, leaving Alex and Burr in the echoing front hall, suddenly devoid of life.

“Why didn't you go with them?” Alex asks.

Burr surprises him. He answers. He shrugs and tucks his gifts in his pocket, smiles a ponderous little thing, like a cobweb in a breeze and says, “I hate feeling like an intruder. And besides. Who will keep you from trouble? I’m ninety percent of your impulse control.”

Alex laughs, slings his arm around Burr’s shoulder, and for once, he lets him.


	3. Third Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took a freaky amount of time, but here, have these two fools. actual couple-y stuff will start happening soon i swear. (what house should i put Madison in, I'm stuck)

i.

“If it isn't my favourite little twerp!” Jefferson chirps, large hand clapping down so hard across Aaron’s back he almost drops his pumpkin pastie, turning him easily back in the direction he came. His robes have a purple sheen to them where Aaron’s are dull flat black, his prefect badge charmed to a larger size. He grins like a shark, wide mouth and gleaming teeth, eyes glinting in smug self satisfaction. “I’d keep my pet hooligans on a tighter leash if I were you.”

Aaron’s eyes narrow at him. “What do--?” A shout down the hallway snaps him from the conversation. He glares once at Jefferson for good measure, shoves the rest of his pumpkin pastie in his mouth, and runs, feet slapping against the stone and heart pounding in his throat, making it hard to swallow.

He pushes through a crowd of first years, wand already out. He can hear Hamilton’s voice over the din, and cold fear mixes with hot anger in his belly. He has Samuel Seabury, fourth year Gryffindor, backed up to the wall, penned in by a ring of students kept at bay by Laurens and the others.  “Say that shit again to my face, you elitist--” both their wands are out, both of them have the beginnings of a hex in their mouths.

“Alexander!” Aaron pushes beneath Mulligan’s arm and slashes his wand at both of them. “Expelliarmus!” He snaps, sending both wands flying. He seizes Hamilton by the collar and hauls him away from Seabury, who grabs his wand and runs without another word. “Get out of here.” He orders coolly, casting his eyes at the gathered crowd.

“You heard the man.” Mulligan adds, shooing the jeering first years. “Off you go, back to classes. A word of this to the professors and you’re dead.”

“Why’d you stop me?” Hamilton grumbles, reaching down for the wand. “Samuel Seabury is a slug sucking slime ball, and I couldn't let him keep spouting his pureblood bullshit--”

“I stopped you,” Aaron stresses, fingers still fisted in Hamilton’s collar even though he knows he should let go, adrenaline still singing in his blood even though he knows it's over. “Because taking Seabury out isn't worth getting expelled.” Hamilton has no reply to that, but he does glower. He doesn't pull out of Aaron’s fingers either. “Well? It's not like you to start a fight without provocation.”

“He called us mudbloods.” Hamilton offers after a moment. The word doesn't sting half as much as it should, but Aaron has heard worse about less. “He said a lot of shitty things, and I wasn't going to let him talk like that.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Aaron lets his fingers ease out of the fabric of Hamilton’s robes. “You’re lucky Jefferson came to find me.”

“Yeah.” Hamilton agrees uncharacteristically, voice dull. He offers a pathetic half smile, something fierce swells in Aaron’s chest, but with no where to aim it, he tries to shrug it off. Hamilton makes him feel so much he feels like he's caught in a storm. He feels like he's become a storm.

ii.

“So I'm thinking,” Hamilton babbles, tugging his rain coat so it tightens around his neck. “We head to Honeydukes to satisfy Herc’s insatiable hunger for cauldron cakes--”

“I know you're making fun of me but you try going without that oozy chocolatey moist ball of goodness for months at a time and then talk.” Mulligan grumbles, stepping around a particularly deep puddle Hamilton and Laurens plough right through, their sloshing steps sending splashes in every direction, including the hems of Aaron’s jeans.

“Then, Tomes and Scrolls, then Zonko’s and then back home for the Halloween feast.” Hamilton continues, grinning brightly.

“Aw man,” Laurens groans, stopping short. “You and I both know if you go into Tomes, you aren't coming out until you have a pile of books taller than you.” Laurens waves his hand and heads off before Hamilton can take offense and make excuses. “We’ll never get to Zonko’s if we stick to your plan. Hell. We’ll never get to the feast.” He grins and calls through the rain, “Burr. Three Broomsticks in two hours!”

Mulligan shrugs. “He's right. I'm ditching you after Honeydukes.”

Hamilton turns on Aaron who shrugs. “I don't mind coming with you. I only came for candy.”

When they are left alone, wandering among the heavy old books, the smell of parchment, ink and dust thick on their tongues, Hamilton seems softer; less exuberant, but in no means diminished. Aaron keeps his eyes on a book about love potions.

“I'm so looking forward to the feast.” He comes to join him on the floor in a secluded corner full of medieval scrolls in latin, his thigh warm where it presses against Aaron’s. “You remember that pie thing they had last year? I feel about that pie how Herc feels about cauldron cakes.” He pauses, skims the back of his book and sets it aside, eyes intense. “What about you? What’s your favourite part?”

“I like all of it. It's still so new to me.” When Hamilton makes a questioning noise, Aaron instantly regrets saying anything at all. “My grandfather didn't let us celebrate halloween.” He explains when Hamilton doesn't look away. “Didn't like the association with demons and witchcraft.”

“Muggles.” Hamilton sighs. He reaches over, slides his hand to Aaron’s knee and pats twice, and leaves his hand there, opening his book again.

Laurens and Mulligan have to fetch them when they miss their meetup time.

iii.

“Expecto patronum!” The end of his wand flares silvery white for just a moment before it fades again. Aaron grits his teeth in frustration, left hand clenching into a fist. Hamilton’s patronus, which he’s managed to conjure weakly a couple of times in a row, runs around streaking silver over their heads, a bit larger than the average fox, before Hamilton lets it fade.

“We don’t have to know this until OWLs.” he reminds, plucking at the book where the charm was explained in detail, setting his wand on his pillow. He’s tossed off his robes, loosened his tie, lets his hair out so it falls in dark sleek waves across his cheek. Aaron swallows and looks away.

“I’ve never known you to say no to getting ahead of the game.” Aaron responds, trying again. The wand flares then dies, flickering out like a firefly.

Hamilton lounges on his bed like a sultan, watching him intensely, propped on one elbow. “Think happy thoughts, Burr.”

“I’m trying.” Aaron hisses. “But I can’t think of anything.”

“You must have a happy memory. Something that keeps you warm at night.” he urges. Aaron shrugs, throat tight. “When you close your eyes, what calms you down, makes you feel safe? That’s what I think of. Try it.” Aaron shuts his eyes, but all he sees is a wide white room, the smell of antibiotics, the taste of pumpkin flavoured medicine like acid in his mouth, tall windows letting in a flood of golden light that falls across black hair, dark eyes turned amber, lips against his cheek, lightening--

“Expecto Patronum,” he murmurs. The tip of his wand erupts in silvery light, shooting a small creature around the room, the long body and skinny tail of a weasel taking one more lap before winding over Hamilton’s shoulders once and disappearing.

“You did it.” Hamilton beams at him. He is devastating. “See Burr? Happy thoughts.”

Happiness is not the name he would give the emotion that lances through him when Hamilton smiles, but he nods and hums just the same.

iv.

“Remember how I’m supposed to be your impulse control?” Aaron wants to grab them all by the ears, dig his heels in and stop them from moving. “This is your impulse control, telling you this is a terrible idea.”

“Duly noted.” Hamilton grins, fingers tight on Aaron’s wrist, his wand in his other hand, the tip bright with the lumos spell. “Thank you, impulse control, you’ve been exceptional. Now stop acting so lily livered and--”

“Did you just say lily livered?” Laurens interrupts. He also has his wand lit up, and the light washes out his colour and makes his freckles appear stark across his cheeks. “Who talks like that?”

“Alex has been reading Burr’s pirate novels again,” Lafayette explains with a jaw cracking yawn. He rubs at his eyes, generous mouth expressively curled downwards. “He’s been keeping me up all hours of the night giggling under the covers.” Hamilton flushes and makes an affronted noise.

Laurens guffaws unattractively, “I don’t know what’s funnier, how grumpy Laf is, that Burr has a collection of pirate novels, or that Alex talks like a pirate.” He lifts one eyebrow, eyes glinting like a cat’s in the light. “Yeah Burr, stop acting so lily livered.” He turns promptly, hooks arms with Mulligan and leads them straight into the forbidden forest.

“Are you just out to prove to your friends you’re a big brave Gryffindor?” Aaron presses. “Because we get it. Courage, justice, blah blah. Now can we please go back to the dorms?” Five lit wands cast five faint shadows on the foreboding forest’s floor, lighting dirt and grass and fallen leaves, and once, Aaron even thinks he sees the pale gleam of bone. He shudders. “Please?”

“The hippogriff cages are around here somewhere.” Laurens mutters as though he didn’t hear him.

“John wants to be a magizoologist.” Hamilton whispers, and Aaron is glad for his hot fingers around his wrist as much as he resents them. “Because his dad’s a dick.”

“So I’m going to show him I can do it, and that there’s just as much value in having a job as being a prissy little lordling.” Laurens sounds fierce, and Aaron can’t see his face, but he knows typical gryffindor determination is shining there.

“Fine.” Aaron sighs out, steeling himself. It’s easier with Hamilton touching him, warm and brave and bright. “But I’m not getting myself bitten by another freaky animal. Last time was enough.”

v.

“You realize that potions essay was only supposed to be two parchment scrolls right?”  Aaron idly traces his fingers over the smooth cool surface of the crystal ball. No matter how he gazes, it remains cloudy, so he’s taken to reviewing Ancient Runs in between peering into the crystal ball’s depths. Hamilton doesn’t even spare a moment to glance up, frantically dipping his quill into more ink and scribbling out the contents of a potions textbook.

“There’s so many details to record though. Obviously it takes up space.” Hamilton combs his fingers back through his hair, dark strands like silk falling back against his forehead. “The professor asked for the applications of worm’s tongues, sure, but what about the applications outside of potions? What about the applications without magic? What about--”

“You ramble too much.” Aaron sighs, flipping his Rune notes open. “And you’re going to give yourself carpal tunnel someday if you keep that up.” the squiggly runes make as little sense as they did an hour ago, and Aaron puzzles over them, tapping his quill against his parchment. He thinks briefly of asking Hamilton for help since he also takes Ancient Runes, but the thought rankles, so he continues to glower at the page.

“Trying to set it on fire with your mind?” Hamilton teases. There’s ink on his cheek, on his fingers, on his tie. He licks his lips and looks away, fingers itching the touch the smudges, wipe them away. “Homework won’t be cowed by the patented Burr Glare.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try just the same.” Aaron huffs and slides his homework closer. “What does this rune mean?”


	4. Fourth Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter damn near killed me but. here it is.

i.

John only brought first year Gryffindor Maria Lewis over a week ago, but Burr already walks her to class, carries her books and helps her study. She gives him these big brown doe eyes, like he’s her hero, and he wears his most beguiling smile, the one that gets them out of trouble with professors no matter what they’re caught doing, the one that pulled Bellamy and Theodosia to him.

“Do you think he’s flirting with her?” Alex wonders aloud, watching Maria laugh sweetly at something Burr says from the other end of the table. Something hot and sticky writhes in his belly like jealousy, but its aimless and sickening.

Angelica peers over too, and firmly shakes her head. “He’d better not be. She’s too young.” She turns sharp brown eyes on him, as discerning as an eagle with claws twice as sharp. “And that doesn’t mean you have permission to start either.” She cuts off Alex’s sputtering with a look. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the looks you were sharing.”

Alex could say a million things, but he settles on, “what can I say? She’s cute and I’m irresistible.” Her lip curls in distaste, and she turns to Eliza without replying. On his left, John laughs gently, that stupid wizened all knowing laugh. “What is it then?”

“You’ve really never seen a pattern to Burr’s behaviour?” he hedges, knocking their elbows together, jostling his hand so he nearly upsets an inkwell. His voice is low, like he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

“I find Burr utterly unpredictable.” Alex replies smartly, opening his arithmancy textbook.

“Think back to first and second year with Eliza. Remember they were practically attached at the hip?” Alex makes a face, and John dramatically rolls his eyes. “And they say Gryffindors are dumb jocks. Think about it like this. Burr hadn’t even looked at her until you said you thought she was cute, and then they were best friends.” He lifts his eyebrows as though the answer is obvious, but Alex stares at him blankly. “Come on man, there’s no way your power of deduction leaves this much to be desired.”

“So you’re saying...Burr keeps stealing my potential girlfriends?” Alex wonders. “Why?”

John shrugs, but his eyes still hold that knowing glint, like he could tell but keeping the secret would yield more amusing results. Burr once remarked that John’s behaviour always reminded him of something feline, sleepy and vicious. Alex has never been inclined to agree before now. “Because he’s a sneaky snake.” But that doesn’t really answer the question.

ii.

“You and Jefferson have got to do something about this stupid rivalry.” Angelica sighs as Alex writes another long, colourfully worded letter. “Hearing howlers every other morning is really drying out my skin.”

“First of all, Jefferson is the one always sending howlers, it's not my fault I respond in kind. Second of all, I can’t let him carry on thinking he’s big shit just because he’s head boy.” Alex folds the parchment and tucks it into an envelope, sealing it with a charm.

Angelica rolls her eyes and nudges her elbow into Burr’s side. “He’s just trying to get all his licks in before Jefferson stops paying attention to him to focus on his NEWTs.”

“They have a strange friendship.” Burr agrees with disinterest, nibbling a pumpkin pasty, checking over John’s essay. As usual, he doesn’t look up at the first screech and flaps of wings as the morning mail arrives, so the thick letter that smack right into his nose, much to John’s loud amusement, takes him completely by surprise. He looks at the letter in confusion, glances around at them all, but when no one steps forward to claim the work as their doing, he cracks open the thick wax seal.  He skims the contents, brow slightly furrowed. The whole table watches in vague surprise when he kisses his teeth and promptly burns the letter.

Later, when Laf is asleep in their dorm, and he and Burr are still climbing up the stair after a late night study session as quietly as they can to avoid his wrath if they wake him,  Alex asks “what was up with the letter?” Because he can't leave well enough alone. Burr’s expression is still burned into his mind, something just short of fury turned ice cold.

Burr sighs, trails his fingers over the cool stone walls and answers, “my grandmother is very ill. Grandfather doesn't think she’ll make it through the year.”

“Oh.” Alex murmurs, at a loss because there are no words for that. Does he touch him? Something about the thin pinch of his mouth makes him ache to make Burr smile again. “I'm sorry?”

Burr shrugs. “I'm used to it now, I think.” He doesn't wait for Alex to say anything else, just carries on up the stairs, books tucked under his elbow and shoulders straight.

iii.

“I don't have to put up with this bullshit--” Alex grumbles, crossing his arms as Peggy straps a party hat around his chin. It wobbles a cheery dance and shoots little fireworks from it’s point.

“Sure you do. It's my birthday, you have to be nice to me.” Jefferson grins, plucking at his birthday boy sash as though to prove a point. He's wearing dressrobes with floral embroidery along the hems, ravenclaw tie replaced with a floral one.  

“I'd rather listen to baby mandrake cries for the rest of my life.”

“In that case, as head boy I order you to be nice to me.”

“That is a gross misuse of power, I'm telling the headmaster on you--”

“Alexander.” Burr calls, voice stern, disapproving and perpetually exasperated. “Stop being a twit, come drink some punch and have a good time for a good time's sake.” He shoves a goblet of punch in Alex’s hands and moves to join Eliza at the cake table. Alex can't help that his eyes follow him, watching him nearly choke on a cupcake when Eliza says something funny.

“Burr!” Jefferson chirps irritatingly, forgetting Alex completely. “Did you bring muggle music like I asked?”

“I brought it, but I don't think you’ll like it much. It's all jazz.”

“I like jazz.”

“You have no idea what jazz is,” Alex retorts. “None of us do.”

Herc helps Burr set up the stereo, and he pops a CD into it. Jazz, it turns out, is low and sultry, and reminds Alex of rainy hot summer nights. The Schuylers giggle and solemnly ask people to dance with them, swishing their robes like ball gowns. Burr and Maria stand against a wall talking lowly. He takes her hand, smiles and twirls her gracefully into Herc who whisks her off onto the dance floor. Alex abandons Jefferson’s side mid sentence despite the interesting argument they were having to hold out his hand to Burr. He doesn't know what he’s doing but that doesn't stop him.

“Asking me for a dance?” Burr smiles, taking his hand, lifting one brow. He doesn't move with Alex to the dance floor, instead he pulls him against the wall. “I'm afraid I don't have the coordination for it though.”

“That is a lie.” But he doesn't make Burr move. He settles in beside him, shares a napkin full of treats between the two of them, and listens to Burr sing softly to low sultry jazz.

iv.

Burr’s skin is cool to the touch, the thrum of his pulse beneath his wrist frantic. He doesn't suggest they go back, or follow the rules. If Alex weren't so miserable and gummy eyed, he’d be thankful. It's warmer on this side of the castle, radiating the kitchen’s heat even in the middle of the night. Burr goes first, inching the wide kitchen doors open bit by bit, before slipping in and tugging Alex after him.

“Something sweet, I think.” Burr mumbles as he makes his way to the pantry, tiptoeing around sleeping house elves. “Something sweet and warm, that will make you feel better.”

Alex thinks with tired amusement that Burr is fussy and over bearing. They’ve teased him about being a mother hen a thousand times, but he's never found it so comforting as he does now. He takes a seat at the long wooden table with low stools, and watches Burr quietly try to ease puddings and cakes aside without waking anyone. Eventually Burr’s search yields a small cake, just right for the two of them topped with a single raspberry Burr graciously pushes closer to Alexander. “We’ll share it,” he announces, and casts a warming spell so a little steam rises from it with the scent of chocolate and raspberries. He hands Alex a fork and cuts a big chunk out for himself.

Alex doesn't feel like eating, which is strange. He doesn't feel like filling the still air between them with words, which is even stranger. He takes a little bite of cake, considers Burr who tries to watch him with muted concern from beneath his eyelashes. “Thanks.” He says, taking another small bite. Burr smiles tightly at him, that look that means he’s thinking something he’ll never say, that Alex would never be able to guess. It's frustrating, burr is a contradiction; a puzzle and as transparent as glass. “i find you utterly unpredictable.” He sighs, rubbing his fingers over his eyes. “I will never understand you.”

Burr blinks at him, vaguely confused, and takes another bite of cake. “Good. But I'm not half as mysterious as you think.”

“You’re kinda weird.” Alex decides. It's not the first time he’s said so. He said the same thing once in their first year, with Burr sitting quietly reading a muggle novel. “But I like you.”

“I’m honoured.” Burr says dryly, and polishes off the rest of his half of the cake. There's a bit of icing on the corner of his mouth. Alex stares. His tongue swipes at it, but doesn't quite catch it all leaving his lips moist. He leans over the table and kisses Burr, licks away that bit of icing clumsily. Burr tips his chin up to meet him fully, He tastes like chocolate.

Here at last is the storm between them he is always trying to catch and hold. Here is the lightning.

Burr’s eyelashes flutter open when he draws away, eyes liquid and deep. “Why’d you do that?”

“Why’d you let me?” Alex whips back. Burr has no answer for that, and Alex doesn't think he’d like his answer at all. He wants to say “I did it to taste lightning again and see if you taste it too.” He says, “I did it to thank you.”

He watches Burrs expression shutter. “You’re welcome anytime, Hamilton.”

v.

Eliza finds him on the commons just by the lake’s edge, skipping rocks idly. “What are you thinking about?” She asks, charming a patch of grass dry and arranging her robes around herself carefully to sit.

Alex doesn't answer right away, composing his thoughts. He's thinking about Burr.  He’s thinking about summer break and months spent away from Burr. He's thinking about that kiss and his stupid answer. He’s never once thought of himself as a coward, never once been someone who holds their tongue, but what stopped him then?

“Say you like somebody,” he begins, turning a stone over and over in his fingers. Eliza perks with that gleam she gets when there's gossip to be had. “But you don't really know how to make sense of them, or how to tell if they like you too or--”

“Alexander.” Eliza interrupts sternly. She gives him a look as though she were about to give sage advice. “When you’re in a bind what do you do best?”

“Write?”

She shrugs and idly plucks at the soft grass, looking self satisfied. “Then you have your answer, don’t you?”

 


End file.
